


Through The Walls

by ImSoSupernova



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Living!AU, M/M, Modern Day, Siren, Suicide mention, apartment neighbors, drug mention, homophobia mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 08:58:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9714344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImSoSupernova/pseuds/ImSoSupernova
Summary: Kieren's barely ever talked to his neighbor in the apartment to the left...until one night when he hears something through the walls.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Lise @mouthfulofbirds and Vivi @heroesofdustandclay

Simon isn't overly impressed with the apartment when he first sees it. The walls are cracked and peeling, the London traffic in the street roars loudly enough that at times he's sure a car is about to plow down his bedroom door, the pipes rattle in an unnerving way when he turns on the shower, and the walls are about as thick as paper, and block out almost no sound. Still, the idea of having his own place, being independent, being self-sufficient is too delicious to pass up, and he signs the papers without much hesitation. To him, the apartment carries the idea of a fresh start, a chance to not fuck everything up for once.

Soon after, he even manages to get a job as a waiter at a restaurant a few blocks down the street from the building, and long days of bussing tables and dealing with customers who at times seem about as likely to stab him as thank him, he's passed out as soon as his head hits the pillow, traffic aside. It's an arduous routine, one that can stretch his patience to the limit at times, but Simon is beginning to feel as if he's finally regaining control of his life.

Sometimes, if he's having a really good day, he even considers initiating contact with his parents again. He hasn't talked to them since they discovered his addiction—his father made it very clear that Simon was no son of his.

Even so, Simon occasionally considers calling his mom and telling her that he's been clean for six months and is finally getting his life on track. But he never musters enough courage to finish dialing the number. So it goes.

Until one night, when his sense of peace is shattered.

Simon's feet are killing him, and his hand has begun to cramp painfully from taking down countless orders. His cheeks ache as he turns to smile at his newest customers. "Hi, I'm Simon, and I'll be your server for..." He trails off as he recognizes the man sitting at the table.

"Simon?" The word hits Simon like a kick to the crotch.

"Julian," he gasps, trying to keep his breathing steady. Then Julian grins at him, the same grin that he'd had all those months ago, the one that had always been accompanied by a "C'mon, Si. Trust me."

Simon feels his stomach lurch, and he runs to the bathroom.

He barely makes it in time. After he's finished, he hears a knock on the door. "Simon? You all right?" He breathes a sigh of relief. It's Amy, another server who very obviously fancies him. Wiping his mouth, he opens the door. "There you are, Mr. Monroe," she chirps. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah...um, would it be possible for you to cover for me tonight? I'm not feeling well."

"...Yeah. Yeah, sure." Amy gives him a confused smile.

Simon lets out a breath. "I'll make it up to you," he promised, then hurried out as fast as he could.

Simon pauses at his door, breathing heavily and fumbling with his key. His heart pounds in his ears, making him dizzy. Once inside, he collapses on his bed and weeps.

Even though he's lived there for three months, Kieren has barely spoken to his neighbor on the left side of his apartment.

He sees him around sometimes, getting the mail in the mornings or doing his laundry at the washer and dryer in the basement. He's a nervous older man, with a mess of black hair and nervous pale eyes that flinch away from Kieren's. Whenever Kieren tries to make small talk with him over the rattling of the ancient machine, he only mumbles a short reply and leaves as soon as he's finished. Sometimes, when Kieren lies in bed, he can hear his neighbor's music seeping through the walls: The Smiths, The Cranberries, or an indie folk artist he doesn't recognize. And sometimes, on what Kieren figures are good days, The Cure.

But this night is different.

Lying in his bed, at first he doesn't recognize the sounds he hears through the tissue paper walls. Then he hears his neighbor sniffle and realizes he's crying, his quiet sobs seeping through the cheap plaster.

The sound continues, punctuated at times by muffled pounding akin to the sounds made when one punches a pillow. The low sobs and thuds are all to familiar to Kieren; he's spent many nights lying awake in tears alone with no one to talk to or comfort him.

"Bad night?" The words slip out before he realizes what he's said. There is no response, and Kieren wonders if his neighbor didn't hear him. Then-

"Could be worse."

"Sounds like it could be better, too," Kieren tries.

The man next door gives a short laugh. "True."

Kieren can't think of a response to that. Then, the man says ruefully, "At least I'm sober."

He hadn't expected that. "I-I see," Kieren stutters. It's the best response he can think of at the moment. Then, his curiosity gets the best of him, and he asks, "What did you take?"

"The A to Z of the Periodic Table," his neighbor replies matter-of-factly.

"Why so much?" Kieren asks before he can stop himself, cursing his insensitive curiosity.

His neighbor doesn't seem to mind. "At the time, I thought, 'why the hell not', y'know?"

"Yeah. I mean, I guess."

They lay in silence for a few minutes.

Simon doesn't know why he feels such an urge to share. Normally with people it's the other way around. Maybe it's just easier for him to talk to a voice when there's no face attached.

"Ever been so depressed it felt as if every nerve in your body was exposed, red, and raw?" he finds himself asking.

"Y-yeah," Kieren croaks. That's exactly how he'd felt. He clears his throat. "Yeah, I have."

"Well, if I took enough chemicals it would dampen down those feelings a bit."

Kieren nods in understanding, then realizes his neighbor can't see through walls. "Why so depressed?" he asks instead.

"Way I was wired, I suppose." He sighs. "Since the day I could think, I had this idea in my mind, this piercing notion that life was completely meaningless. Me an' everyone else were just treading water until our bodies gave out and we sank back into darkness." He laughs bitterly. "When you feel like that 24/7, you might as well get fucked up beyond belief because you don't believe anything anymore."

"You still feel that way?" his neighbor asks.

"Not as much as I used too," Simon answers truthfully. "But tonight..." he trails off.

"What happened to you?" his neighbor asks.

Simon swallows. "When...when I bought this apartment a few months ago," he starts shakily, "I thought maybe this would be my chance to start over, live my life." He sighs. "Should've known that wouldn't work out."

"And then...?" his neighbor pries gently.

"For a bit, that seemed to be the case," Simon continues. "Even got a job an' everything. But then tonight—" He hesitates to say the words, knowing he will be forced to accept them as reality once he says them. He won't be able to pretend it's all in his mind. "I saw my old—" Simon isn't exactly sure what to call Julian. "—my old dealer last night," he says quietly. "And he saw me."

"Oh," is all Kieren can say.

"And it's only a matter of time till he finds where I live, and-and God, I can't go down that path again. I-I want to stay better. But I have so much trouble saying no to him." He hates his voice for shaking. He hates himself for getting into this mess in the first place.

"You don't have to," says his neighbor softly.

"Sorry?" Simon asks.

"I mean, you don't have to go that way again. The future isn't set in stone. You always have a choice."

Simon's throat tightens, so much that he can't answer. "So, how 'bout you?" he asks instead. "Why so depressed?"

Kieren notices the deliberate subject change, but decides not to push him. Besides, if his neighbor's willing to tell him something so personal..."Lost someone," he answers simply.

"Who?" Simon asks.

"His name was Rick. We were...close."

It takes him a moment, but Simon understands what he means. "I see."

Kieren realizes he's waiting for him to go on. "His...his dad found out."

Simon sucks in a breath. "What...what did he do?"

_Bill, red-faced and spitting, goes in swinging, yelling slurs, calling Rick a monster, an abomination, and worse, telling Rick he's no son of his, Rick's yells in between the thuds of blows landing, telling Kieren to run...run..._

"He kept hitting him...and yelling...and Rick was trying to tell me to get out of there... so I ran." Kieren closes his eyes against the rush of memories. God, he hasn't talked about Rick to anyone since...probably ever. "I just-if he could do that to his own son, God knows what he'd do to me. And then...and then he was gone. I wasn't even allowed to go to the funeral. Few weeks later, I...tried to off myself. Dad found me just in time."

"I'm sorry," Simon says quietly. He realizes how lame the words sound as soon as he says them.

"Yeah," Kieren says softly. He wipes his eyes. Now he's the one who's crying. "Me too."

Neither men speak for a moment. In his mind, Simon sees a similar scene take place. _The disappointment in his mother's eyes and the sheer fury outlined in every corner of his father's face when they walk in on him with syringe in hand, his father's quiet anger crescendoing into a roar as he asks him how he could hurt his family like this, his mother like this, telling him to GET OUT and never come back-_

"Sometimes I wonder," his neighbor says carefully, "What would have happened if I didn't run. If I stayed. Maybe it would have turned out differently. Maybe it would've turned out better."

Simon considers this for a second. The idea of the consequences, of going down the path of addiction, being broke and homeless and the only thought in his being how he can get his hands on his next fix, dying with the needle in his arm...he can't let that happen. He won't. But running from his problems has never worked before. Sooner or later, his past has always caught up to him. Maybe his neighbor's right. Maybe he should stay and face. Might even make his father proud...

"Maybe," Simon says quietly.

Kieren hears the rustle of a bedspread as his neighbor turns over, and says no more.


End file.
